Learning to Speak
by Twisted Skys
Summary: A series of oneshots that center around the Assassin recruits. Ideas and requests welcome.
1. Assassins in the Attic

**Assassins in the Attic**

The soft pitter-patter and gentle splash was alluring and peaceful. A gentle softness, a haze, or fog the coated the Tuscan country side in such mystery. The city was silent; citizens had long since run inside their homes to escape the rains. These rains had been predicted for some time, as they happened every year at near the same time. So it truly was no surprise.

Those unlucky enough to be caught in the rain were those that had been hired to carry swords and to bully the populace. And it was no wonder such fearful tales of ghosts, white as snow and stained red by their endeavors had swept through city and country alike, and stole the breath from those that took it from others. These ghosts had been haunting the small Tuscan city. With it's high towers becoming harder to guard, as those that climbed them often never came down quite the same way, and it's streets filled with liberated civilians, and the remainder of whatever force that was brave enough to stay.

The ghosts, who liked the rain and fog and night to disguise their bodies so as they might move as if they truly were nothing but phantoms, searched the streets. Men died, and those who saw more often turned the blind eye and made for the nearest city gate rather than engage what could hardly be caught.

The fog bank that rolled in had long passed and the sky was, for but a moment clear. Somewhere down the street, a young man peered from around the corner, as one singular ghost; no, Assassin; rose from the ground, from the body of another victim. The white hood that masked all turned in his direction, the yawning black whole where his face should have been was enough to make the young man wish to flee. He stood from his crouched position, keeping his eyes on the advancing ghost, only turning to look in front of him when he was several paces forward and near knocked into another ghost.

This one, also wearing the hood as white as snow, he could see the face of, which was only truly in touching distance. The soft porcelain features of a woman met him. Soft full lips, curled into a demonic smile, but free of paint. And her eyes, sharp and bright in the midnight darkness, gleaming with excitement from her hunt. Like a wolf, she pounced and the unfortunate young guard was taken from this life.

"Aleca…" The male was her senior, in both age and rank. He had followed the Master for longer, and knew many more tricks than she did. Where she had barley just been allowed to leave Roma, and her Master, he had been traveling all over Europe since the very beginning. She closed the guard's eyes, only slightly guilty for how young he had been, but quickly quelled it. This was not the time for discomfort. She was being trusted to watch her senior's back as he carried out his mission.

"Where to now, teacher?"

The other Assassin turned to look around at the surrounding buildings. He then set off into an easy jog, his body falling easily into the motions of the hunt. He stopped and peered around every corner, counted guards down every street, and threw smoke bombs to confuse them. Several streets over from where they originally met with the first batch of targets, they found themselves once again in the shadow of a fog bank. The rain would resume soon, and the biting cold of the night would worsen. They would need to hurry, they could no longer delay this mission with stealth.

"Take the rooftops."

Elsewhere in the small city, a small portly man sat by his fire, sipping at an interesting drink he had discovered only a few days prior. It was rather bitter, but had a taste that was simply irresistible. The house had been quiet for a time, his children had long since gone to bed, and his wife had fallen into a dead sleep in the chair across the hearth. He examined her beautiful face from he sat in the dim, flickering orange light. He could not help the small, loving smile that graced his lips upon seeing her sleep so peacefully.

He readjusted the cup in his hands, the porcelain clinking softly against the silver band around his finger. Reminded of it now, he frowned. He glanced at the cross carved into the top and reminded himself darkly that he would have to tread lightly from now on.

The rumors of the ghost, which he knew better by now that they certainly were not ghosts, had him jumpy and anxious. He stayed up all night, and vowed to do so until they left. He knew the Assassin could strike him at anytime, but some childish notion kept him up all night and sleeping through the day.

All so suddenly, there was a great thunderous crash that shook the house to it's foundation. The portly man jumped from his seat, dropping the mug and spilling it's dark liquid all over the red Persian rug. His wife jumped as well with a sharp cry. She looked around, and above her, eyeing the ceiling with distrust.

Her husband merely laughed, albeit shakily, and chastised her, as well as himself silently, that it was only thunder. This merely had her looking at him questioningly. "Are you sure? It sounded as if it were in the attic."

"No, no. Nothing, ti amo, I will prove to you." In truth, he was checking for himself, because what if it had been something else? A flash from outside the glass windows and another thunderous crash, although this one was not nearly as house shaking as the first.

He moved to the long hallway near the kitchen, cursing under his breath about the cold once he had left the warm radius by the hearth. His wife followed obediently from a distance, watching with some fear as her husband moved to open the hatch above his head.

It swung open, the square black hole it left far from inviting. He looked back at her for reassurance before standing on his tiptoes to look inside the attic. He rotated his body to be able to look in all directions, but stopped before he made a full turn. There, where it seemed the shadows were near thickest, only illuminated by the snaking light from the hearth was a mass of white. Or rather, more accurately, a single gleaming eye that watched from under the peaked Assassin hood.

There was a gasp, a rustle of movement, a dull thud and the _chinck_ of metal, then an ear piercing scream that haunted the city, and echoed into the fog laden night.

_Afterward: Not an official project so updates for this will be sporadic. But I do intend to make more and post them here. Some will be recruits by themselves, and others with Ezio, but these are based on the Assassin recruits mostly. The plan is do one that fits titles with each letter in the alphabet. (e.g.: Help for Hire, Party for the Pious) I'll take requests on letters or characters (which include multiplayer/ templar agents/ really anybody in the game). I hope you enjoy, please help me imrove my writing by leaving me feed back. :)_


	2. Bygone and Battered

Firenze was a beautiful city. Part of it was the relish of art and beauty that radiated off the streets, that shone in the white toothed smiles of the people. So different from Roma, which was so heavily blanketed by depression and fear. Firenze was a true wonder, a million worlds away from Roma. Annetta could not help the smile that rose from her lips. Her eyes, although covered by the deep black cowl, sparkled as she watched a group of children running through the streets. They tossed a ball that bounced back up once it hit the ground, as their little hands tried to catch it. One of the smaller girls caught the ball, holding it high above her light, like hay, curls in her victory. One of the boys she played with didn't seem to like that she won, and although Annetta could not personally hear their conversation, she knew they argued over the rules of this inconsistent game.

There was a flurry of white and gray robes that broke through her thoughts. She took a step to one side, away from the cart of hay to avoid the little tufts that rose up from the disturbance. Annetta pursed her pale lips. "Aleca, you need to learn the meaning of subtly."

The younger woman frowned as she pulled herself from the cart. Annetta took another step away. The one thing she hated about her profession, was the Mentor's art of jumping into hay bales. She was allergic to hay...

She was far too distracted. "Where is Bear?"

Aleca peered up at her from the shadows of her own gray cowl, her blue eyes sheepish. "I don't know how a man his size does it, but I lost him."

Annetta rolled her eyes. "He probably just ran ahead." Aleca nodded in understanding, an almost silent sigh escaping her when she realized she wasn't going to be reprimanded. Aleca was a good student, but only thus. She was a novice, and honestly couldn't be expected to keep up with a master. Especially Bear once he got into his mission. The younger woman turned and moved to climb the sheer wall behind them. "No, no," Annetta called. "We walk the streets." She didn't give the novice much more time to get closer again before she merged into the crowd and tried to disappear.

It didn't take long to reach their destination. The walls of the small palazzo rose up, the flags on their sides were torn, worn, and battered by time and the elements, but the crest they bore was still proudly displayed. She smiled at the majesty of the building, intrigued by the history that occurred here. What kind of tales could these old walls tell...?

Gustavo, or better known as Bear, was at the entrance, held up by the rusted iron gate that protected the building for all this time. Bear heard their near silent steps approaching and turned to look at both of his fellow Assassins. A grimace pulled at his lips as he gave the deadbolt another tug, and it didn't budge. "Time has closed it, and rust has filled it. We ain't getting in this way."

Annetta took a step out of the archway, peering upward. The boarded up windows on the outside of the building looked sturdy enough, and spaced nearly perfectly for a straight shot to the roof. This made her smile. "This used to be home to one of the greatest Assassins in the world. I sure he scaled these walls a million times. I think it would be easy for three of his students to climb these walls."

It was almost as if the gate had responded to her words. The deadbolt clicked, tumbling from the lock that held it in place and clattering hollowly as it hit the tiled ground. The gate itself shuddered violently, like something had slammed into it, and it swung open with such ferocity, the bang as it hit the side of the archway echoed up the inner sides of the palazzo.

The three Assassins glanced at each other, then the door, the each other again. Aleca, the apparent bravest of them was the first to enter, leaving her two seniors to stand in bafflement. Bear suddenly cleared his throat. "Pressure sensitive tiles." he scuffed a boot across the stone he stood on.

"That's imposs-" Annetta caught on then, nodding. "Yes, that has to be it..."

They entered the Palazzo Auditore, cautiously aware of the feeling of being watched. Bear was spooked, he was quick the break the main door in and enter the palazzo itself, leaving Annetta in the quart-yard to keep watch.

Her eyes scanned the palazzo's inner walls, searching each dark window, not sure if she was expecting to see someone looking down at her. Despite the age of the building, and how long it had been since someone lived here, the old house barley looked as if it were abandoned. The Auditore crest still carved perfectly into the tiles in the center of the quart-yard. She moved to stand on it, curiosity and a strange form of nostalgia compelling her. She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if her master, her Mentor, had ever stood upon his crest like this. He was young when he left his home, younger than all his students when he began teaching himself the arts of the Creed.

She opened her eyes, angling her head back to look up at the sky. The tall walls of the palazzo seemed so tall when she was down here, the sky seemed so far away. She realized that if this were any other place or building, she would be desperate to escape this place, to get away from these suffocating walls. But not this place. Here, the walls seemed to be protecting her, telling her to relax, that all was well and these old walls were still strong enough to keep the evils out.

A scuffle of feet brought her so abruptly from her thoughts, she jumped, her hand automatically resting on the hilt of her rapier. She looked over to the western wall of the palazzo, finding a rose bush. It was not what she expected to see, and looked around her for the footsteps. Finding none, she moved toward the bush. It extended up the side of the wall, looking well maintained even now. She didn't quite remember it when she first looked around but supposed it could have been accidentally overlooked. The flowers were just beginning their bloom, some of the buds not even beginning to open yet.

She then heard laughter, a young child's. It was quiet but it sounded like it was just behind her. Her stomach dropped, she spun, searching desperately for the hollow sound. It was nowhere, just like the footsteps, it had no origin. She frowned, maybe he was hiding in the archway, or up in the windows. She searched for him, and only upon turning back to rose bush that she finally saw him.

He was no older than ten, chubby, pale, and dressed in noble clothing. He was desperately reaching for a rose at the top of the bush, just out of reach of his little fingers. Her hand dropped from her rapier as she took his appearance, trying to get over how a haze seemed to hang around him, like an old painting. He looked real, but not there, as if he had been real once but was no longer.

"Who are you?" She asked, trying to sound confident but soothing. She didn't want to frighten him.

He turned to look at her, his brown eyes wide and bright, but tired all the same. She knew this look, the look of a child suffering from sickness. She took pity on him, she knew what sort of damnation would follow him in life. He smiled, regardless and she had to commend him for his strength. "I want that rose." He pointed up, speaking in the soft Tuscan accent that reminded her so greatly of her Master.

She stepped forward as he moved out of her way, behind where she couldn't see him. It didn't bother her.

"It seems I can't get anything by myself anymore," he continued. "My poor mama can't have gift that come from the sky. Not like my big brothers who can fly."

Annetta laughed. "They can fly?" She doubted this at first, but she had also seen a man fly before.

"Yeah!" The boy was getting excited. He obviously liked talking about his brothers. "They fly all over Firenze like eagles."

"Like eagles?" She asked, her hidden blade popping out with precision only gained with practice.

"Yeah..." The boy trailed away, and she turned to look at him, only to find him gone. Her brow furrowed, and she searched the empty quart yard for him.

"How does he keep doing that?" She said it more to herself than anyone else, but the boy, who was now behind her, pruning some of the roses made a questioning noise.

Annetta spun. She opened her mouth to say something, but decided it didn't matter. The boy wasn't looking at her, too busy examining another bud. Annetta moved to give the boy the rose, but he only shook his head. "I cannot leave this place, and Mama will not come home. Can you give it to her?"

Annetta wanted to laugh a little, but the boy seemed so sad all of a sudden. She knelt down to his height, examining his face. "And why can't you leave?"

It all happened so fast, yet so slowly. The boy looked down, the roses withered; he opened his mouth to speak, then faded from sight. "Because I am not real."

_Afterward:__Here's another for this little series. I told you it would have sporadic updates. Aw well. In This one, I introduce Annetta, and Gustavo (Bear). The reoccurring character is Aleca. I never did tell you that Baulk was the other senior Assassin from the first installment. Feedback is always welcome. __J_


	3. Chickens and Eagles

**Eagles and Chickens**

Aleca laughed, bright and happy. Baulk's laughter followed, deep and rich. Apprentice and teacher. Baulk, however, was not a master. Talented as he was, and brave. He had even already had his first kill. Almost everyone had except him and Aleca. The girl was too new to the order. He was youngest, and as he peaked around the corner to look at the burly man and lithe girl, he felt nothing but jealousy. He wished he wasn't awkward.

He looked down at his gray robes in thought. There was stitch lines when Annetta had fitted his robes, because his legs were too long and his arms too short. He felt his face with his hand, feeling the beginnings of stubble and the ridges of blemishes. And ugly duckling surround by swans... No... A chicken surrounded by Eagles. He was ugly, and didn't belong.

He sighed again, moving back and out of sight. Why did he even join this group? He turned, feeling he had to prove himself somehow. He ended colliding with the Master himself. He must have had more momentum then he expected. He was knocked back and over onto his rump, the Master stumbled, but caught himself. It seemed he was always falling while everyone else was flying.

"Mi dispiace, Maestro." He stared at the floor between his legs, hoping his cowl hid the reddening of his face.

A soft chuckle, deep, but lighter than Baulk's. He glanced up minutely, to find a calloused hand outstretched to help him to his feet. The Master himself... What a screw up he was, to actually make the Master look upon him. He lowered his head further.

Ezio made a scoffing noise, making the teenager look at him sharply. "Stop acting like a starving dog caught stealing. You've done nothing wrong."

He swallowed his shame, and took the offered hand. The Master practically lifted him off the ground by himself, and all that shame and self-loathing bubbled back up to the surface. He stood in still silence, waiting for the Master to move one, but he seemed disinclined. Aleca and Baulk laughed again, seeming muffled by the wall.

"Why are you hiding-" he cut himself off suddenly, the shadows making it impossible for the teen to read his face.

"Master?"

Suddenly, the older man lifted his head and tilted it in a way that made the light shine on his tan Tuscan face, revealing the half subdued grin. To have such an expression on him, directed at him, to have been caused by him made all the shame wash away as if it had never been present. He tried to not to grin in return.

"You're jealous."

Never mind, it was back. His face reddened. "N-no!"

Ezio laughed. "Come, I've been waiting to show you, but I think you're ready." The Master didn't give him time to answer, didn't even slow down. He just walked right out the door he had come in only minutes before. The teen followed obediently, hearing Aleca call his name as she peeked from around the corner. He hated his name, and cringed upon hearing it. It wasn't like any of the beautiful Latin names that surrounded him. Ezio, Annetta, Gustavo, Niccolo. Harry Henry! That was what his brother used to call him. It wasn't that creative, as he didn't have a hair on his body.

The drop into the Tiber was long, and filled with the threat of hitting the dock if you didn't push off far enough. Ezio walked out onto the gangplank, or rather the Eagle perch, balancing perfectly, as usual. Henry had heard of this. The Master tendency to pretend he could fly. The way he was standing, you would believe he could. There was no fear in his stance, to tension considering that if he slipped, he wouldn't ever fly again, even if he did live. That thought made him sad, and he thought about warning his Master to be careful.

"What do you see?"

What an odd question, as well as a bit prolific. "Roma." He answered, hoping it the right one. The Maestro nodded, pointing off into the distance.

"The Castello?"

"Yes, and who lives there?"

"The enemy of the Brotherhood."

"What is our Creed?"

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."

He took a step back, looking at Henry. "Step out onto the perch."

"What?" He spoke too quickly. The Master looked at him sharply, a gleam in his eyes. "Uh, are you sure?" He tried to cover himself up, but it was as if the sharp gaze of the older man cut right through him and bore his soul for all to see.

Ezio gave him a sharp look, a silent command. Henry didn't hesitate, even as the fear rose up in him as he moved out to balance on the eagle perch. He looked down as the street far below, feeling sick all of a sudden. He was afraid of heights, chickens couldn't fly after all.

"Close you eyes."

He wanted to object again, but knew better this time. Besides, he didn't think he could turn his head to look at his master without loosing his balance. He closed his eyes.

"What do you see?"

He opened his eyes to look down on Rome again. "Roma," he answered.

"Do not look. Feel. Close your eyes, and stretch your senses. When you do it, you'll understand."

He had to admire the Master's patience. He closed his eyes, concentrated. At first there was nothing. He couldn't hear anything up here except the wind, and the occasional sound from the street.

"The Creed." Ezio repeated.

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted." The wind that caressed his face, lifted his robes, the smell of orange trees could be smelled across the river, their scent intoxicatedly sweet. Sounds drifted up to him, the sound of people in conversation, the sound of horses and their hooves clopping across the cobblestone. He could here the shores of the Tiber as it crashed up against the docks and walls. The sound of cannon fire could be heard in the far distance, and that was brought him back to earth. Standing up here, listening and feeling, he could see the sickness. He could feel the pain of the people far below him, as if he was the only one in the sky. "Nothing is true." He finally understood. Reality does not exist, limitation could be exceeded. "Everything is permitted." No limitations left a world of boundless opportunity. The illusions of control were suddenly washed away, the fear of consequences gone forever.

It was like this that he could actually feel his master moving behind him. Small calculated steps, heels first, then toes; the gentle swish of robes, and the crunch of dust beneath his boots. The way he favored his right side; he had never noticed it before, never thought to close his eyes and listen.

Because of this, he had some semblance warning before the Assassin pounced, but still lacked the skills to be able to avoid. The next thing he knew however, was that Ezio had slammed into him from behind and they were both plummeting toward the water below. He watched in a strange, passive state of calm, as the world slowed down around him. They both fell, Ezio let go, disciplining his body into a shape to lessen the impact with the water. He followed hastily, straightening out his legs, the water coming up to meet him. Closer and closer, then nothing.

Suffocating, thick as syrup. The wind was gone, the water was cold. Something grabbed his cowl and pulling him along, pulling him toward light. He thought for a moment that he was dead. That didn't seem to bother him, because he had tasted freedom, and that was all he needed. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to sink into the depths of cold darkness, ignoring the insistent tug.

Something hard and sharp suddenly jabbed itself into his ribcage. Knocking the little wisp of air out of him. He look up, or at least tried to, through the murky water, at the white blob above. He swore it was an angel, but something told him otherwise. He wanted him to follow, so he moved his arms and legs into motion, suddenly aware of the burning in his lungs. He fought for the surface, finally coming up sputtering and gasping, but so was the angel beside him.

Now he realized, with some embarrassment that his angel was one of Roma's most notorious demons. Ezio was scowling at him. "You did good on entry, but you need to start moving at soon as you hit the water. I've sprained my ankle a few times in Venice because I sank too low too fast and hit the bottom of the river."

Henry suddenly grinned. "We were flying, Master!"

Ezio's scowl suddenly washed away, replaced by a grin. "Yeah. That was what I said my first time."

They swam to the shore, people staring at them, but they didn't care. Henry look back up at the tower he had just jumped from. The overwhelming urge to do it again bubbled up so strong in him it surprised him. He sighed. "Who taught you, Master?"

The ghost of loss shadowed across his face. "My brother did, when I was sixteen."

A new found respect for his teacher rose in him. He had taught him something valuable, something that set him apart, he hoped. His admiration, the open awe for the older man was replaced by what he could only describe as loyalty. He was a chicken among eagles, but maybe he had yet to grow, yet to learn to fly.

Afterward: Another character introduction. Henry is the angsty teenager with a self-hate problem. This one seemed to move really fast, which is always my problem, but I can't find something to improve it yet.


End file.
